


You are climbing the stairs of this lonely mansion

by alchemistique



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Gen, Shenanigans, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-02
Updated: 2011-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-19 23:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchemistique/pseuds/alchemistique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know one thing for certain: Dave Strider hates board games, but he loves competition more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You are climbing the stairs of this lonely mansion

**Author's Note:**

> Lizzledpink is the Rose. Alchemistique is the Dave. Shenanigans ensue.

> Reader: Be the flighty broad.

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you’ll let that one slide. 

You are climbing the stairs of this lonely mansion, unperturbed by the darkness that shrouds its corners this time of night. Most of the lights are turned off, for a number of reasons, the foremost of which is that Dave is too lazy to turn them on, and you personally don’t care.

Ever since that game, you’ve never had trouble seeing anything, when you required it. You suspect it could be the blackest night, and you would still be able to see; you don’t dare to test that theory. 

The memories of such all-consuming darkness still smother your sleep.

But as long as there is some light, you are fine. Right now, the full moon is just bright enough to illuminate the corridor. Still haunting, still dark - but a comfortable dark.

And all this musing is doing you no good whatsoever.

Finishing your ascent, you turn and walk down a hallway, and from there you knock twice on a door. 

“Strider?”

There is no response. You wait a few seconds, and then enter the room regardless.

The sudden influx of fluorescent light is near blinding, but you adjust in the blink of an eye. Literally, in fact.

Dave is standing at the window, notebook in hand as he slips his shades back into place. 

Yes, he had taken them off. No, this is not a fact you find to be surprising. You personally know of some specific situations - most of which, on grounds of sometimes being a nice, privacy-respecting person, you will not be sharing - where Dave Strider does, in fact, decline to wear his trademark sunglasses.

One such situation is the situation where Dave is stargazing.

For you, it’s a pointless exercise. You know the coordinates of Alternia (not that it’s visible from Earth with current technology), and know the signs of the Zodiac fondly, but you don’t need to know further than that. Dave seems intent upon learning as much of the stars as he can, though. He will doggedly defend it as ironic to anybody who asks, but Jade, Rose, and John have never asked, nor needed to.

He does take it seriously. He knows all the stars by now. (Okay, not all of them, but you are continually surprised by the extent to which he has learned them.)

Dave turns to you, wrapping himself in an air of pure apathy. “Lalonde,” he greets you.

“It’s a dark and stormy night. I thought maybe I could persuade you to play a board game with me.”

His gaze drops to the box in your hands. “Really?”

“It’s a classic.”

“Gog. No.”

“I knew you’d appreciate my choice,” you say smoothly. Dave looks utterly disbelieving, but you are already sitting on the carpet, spreading your skirt wide across the floor. He has no other option than to sit down with you or completely lose face. 

You lift off the top of the box. This will be the best game of Connect Four, ever. Not because you’re going to win (you are), but because it will be against Dave. You have him trapped in a situation where you can talk to him. 

Oh, yes.

Dave stares at you for a solid thirty seconds before letting out a groan of irritation, settling across from you. His expression practically sneers fine before he takes a handful of red chips (obviously), watching you set up the game.

Within moments, the grid is upright, and a pile of yellow chips already lie at your feet. You smirk.

“Your move, Strider. You’ll need the head start.”

Dave, with all the chillness of a polar bear in January, drops a red chip into the very center of the grid, then yawns ever so casually.

“Bored already.”

“Liar,” you hum. “And a typical Dave move for a start, too. I guess I’m not surprised.” You neatly slip a chip into one of the corners.

His next chip lands next to your lone yellow one. He seems to be looking everywhere else but at you or grid, and his eyes frequently drift to the window longingly.

“Always, always on the offensive.” You slide a chip between his, and raise an eyebrow. “Charging ahead.”

“I thought we were playing a childhood board game, not having some sort of therapy session,” he shoots back.

Your face schools itself into complete innocence. “Just an observation.”

“Yeah, I don’t really need any of those right now, Lalonde,” he says, eyes rolling behind his shades.

“Of course you don’t.” You wait for him to realise it’s his turn to make a move.

He studies the grid in mock concentration, as serious as Terezi and her scalemates. Finally he takes a red chip and drops it in the corner opposite yours, then folds his arms across his chest.

“Please try and present a challenge,” you request politely. You think the request is perfectly reasonable. You proceed to drop a chip again between his.

“I am taking this so fucking seriously,” he bites back. “Look at how fucking serious I am right now. If I were any more serious, Bellatrix Lestrange would have to come and kill me.”

“And here I thought you would have claimed you were a pureblood and got off scot-free.”

“I tried but she killed me anyway. My death was tragic. Bitches in black mourning over my body and shit. It was fucking traumatizing, man. You were there.”

“But I wore bright red, just to mock you. Couldn’t even defend yourself from one measly madwoman.”

“I was rolling in my grave. Now my vengeful spirit will come to haunt you every night.”

“I’m shaking in fear.”

He gives the slightest hint of a smirk, then slides another red chip on top of one of yours. “Anyway, I think we were playing a game, Lalonde.”

“Incorrect. I was playing a game; you were being ironic.” You make your move, doing the same.

“It’s the only way to live. I know it’s hard for all the uncool, non-ironic people to understand. But I think you get the idea a little better than someone like Egderp.”

“Sadly, I fear John and Jade are forever set to dwell in the land of transparent, mundane language.”

(You and Dave have an unacknowledged bond over love of words. Emphasis on unacknowledged, of course.)

“The Wonderderp twins, forever at our service,” he quips as another red chip falls into the grid.

“We should try to visit them sometime.” You drop a chip.

“A week long visit of cake and bad Nic Cage movies is exactly what I need in my life right now.” He never says it directly, avoids the subject, but both of you know just how much he misses them. Jade, especially.

“But Dave, we need to go!” This next part will be tough to say with a straight face. “However else will we resolve Karkat’s shipping chart?” You pull it off anyway.

Dave covers his mouth with the back of his hand, holding back a snort. “You’re fucking kidding me right now.” A blush barely covers his cheeks.

You keep up the expression - 1, 2, 3 - and then you spare him, grinning widely. “Yes, I am.”

He mutters a string of colorful curses under his breath. “Don’t fucking joke about that shit, Rose.” You know he’s irritated if he uses your first name.

Cautiously, you drop a chip. “Sorry. I wasn’t aware it was such a personal matter for you...” You make a humming noise almost without realizing it, thinking to yourself. You were so convinced Dave was in love with Terezi, after all.

“Yeah, I’m all set to talk about my unrequited and confusing feelings for Harley, lay it on me.” He drops another chip, almost angrily, and you’re not entirely sure if that’s a serious invitation or not.

“Who said anything about Harley? I was talking about you and John,” you lie fluently. It feels a bit like poking a lion with a stick. A stick that’s about four inches long, and perhaps makes a loud beeping noise when you poke with it. Well, you do like to live dangerously.

“Of course, I’m all about the Egbert dick,” he responds smoothly, poker face already in action. “Every night, it’s all I think about it, I just can’t wait to have him in my arms again so I can tell him all about my epic homolove for nerds with an orthodontic crisis.”

“Oh, dear. I really should have booked that flight a while ago, shouldn’t I? Already I can see you pining away.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t heard me crying in my sleep. I try to keep it down, but it’s hard. I just love him so much. You understand.” His expression never falters behind the shades, coolkid face perfected down to the second.

You break. You mentally tally a point to Dave as you burst into a fit of giggles, only just managing to drop another Connect Four chip in between them. “Strider, you’re terrible!”

“Shit girl, you think I’m joking or something?” But he smiles anyway, so quickly you almost miss it.

“I think you’re attracted to John Egbert. I also thought you had better taste, but oh, well. I suppose you have to have some faults.”

“Says the one who was supposed to marry and procreate with John Egbert, according to an alien shipping chart. He’d be so offended if he heard you say that. And why wouldn’t you? Egbert’s a real catch.”

“Is he? I hadn’t noticed.” You make a point of studying the grid, and drop one more chip in before smiling and punctuating your point. “If you’re that desperate to have my should-be boyfriend, we could always share.”

“Sharing in between your girly love-fests with that other flighty broad? Jegus, Lalonde, when did you become such a pimp?”

You -

You wonder if the moment you lose composure was long enough for him to catch. It probably was. 

Another point to Dave Strider, if not the entire game, and he knows it, judging by the faint smirk that plays across his face.

“Low blow,” you mutter.

“Hey, you’re talking to the master pimp here. I know all about fending off the ladies, human and alien. I got these crazy, color-happy broads licking all over my face every day, remember?”

“Had.”

“Wow, that’s my heart you just ran over with your 18-wheeler, Lalonde. I don’t think I survived. Now you have to come to the funeral.”

“That’s the second time in this conversation alone we’ve discussed the idea of your funeral. Do you have a death wish I should know about, Dave?”

“You are my death wish, Lalonde, creepy wizard fanfic and all. You’re the only woman for me. I’d lovingly die in your arms if that’s what it takes.”

You know you need to reply with some kind of comeback. Maybe you could foil his attempt to make your fanfiction sound bad. Or you could mock his obvious devotion; maybe you could construct an ironic scenario that would require your death in his arms. But now you’re discussing Dave’s death. And people have died and people are gone and sometimes you have to wonder if Dave even understands that.

An uneasy silence falls between the both of you. Dave drops another chip and clears his throat awkwardly, shifting a little. He looks just about ready to abscond if necessary.

“...Don’t die in my fucking arms, Strider. I don’t care how cool it would be.”

“God, no, that’d be the shittiest death ever. Don’t fucking flatter yourself.”

You try to fix him with a look. Just let him once take this seriously, you plead.

His entire body is tense now, shoulders rigid, eyes darting around the room behind his shades. You can tell he’s trying so hard to keep it together, to not let you win, but finally -

“Fuck, Lalonde, what do you want?” He drops the rest of his chips and stares at you with an uneasy determination. “All right, lay it on me, what sort of psycho bullshit did you want to dump on me tonight?”

You sigh. You rub your forehead. “I wanted to ask you about Terezi, but never mind. We can finish this game some other time, if you want.”

Dave pushes his shades up, rubbing his eyes. “What about Terezi.” His voice is flat, distant.

“You miss her like I miss Kanaya, that’s what about Terezi. Am I wrong?”

“N-No.” Dave honest to god stutters - Dave motherfucking Strider, and suddenly he sounds so small, so insecure, everything he tries so hard not to be. “No, you’re right. I miss her. ‘Course I do.” His words are soft and drawling and sound just like Texas.

“I just... I know I’m hardly a good example, but I thought that maybe you wanted to talk about it or something. I don’t think most people on this planet would quite understand the situation, or even what she was like. Too much personality.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” he replies, and he almost sounds hollow. “They’re not coming back, so what’s the fucking point.”

“I’d like to believe you when you say that,” you tell him softly, “but I know the first constellation you look for every night, too.”

“Which is?” It’s a challenge - he wants to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth. He’ll only open up if he knows this isn’t just a far-fetched assumption.

“You always find Libra first. Every time.”

“And you, Virgo,” he responds. “I know I’m not the only star-gazer in this household.”

You shrug, your eyes trailing over to the window. “Yes. Of course, yes.”

He sighs, and his entire torso seems to deflate. “But what’s the use? Why do we spend so much time staring at the sky, looking for people who are never going to look back?”

“Because we remember it, that’s why. Sburb happened, and its consequences have been very real. They’re - they are a part of that. I would think, as the Knight of Time, you would know it best of all. Just because it’s in the past, doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”

He stiffens, shoulders tightening up again. For once, he doesn’t have a response. For what feels like the first time, Dave Strider is speechless.

Without a word, you drop a chip. Conveniently, you now have him boxed in - he moves one way, he loses, he moves the other way, he still loses.You’re a little less happy about that than you expected.

Dave stares at the grid blankly for a moment, contemplating, even though there’s really nothing to consider. He drops his final chip, and you know that he’s admitting defeat in more ways than one.

You don’t pick up a chip. Instead, you slide your hand over and flick the little switch, sending all the chips cascading down - board cleared. Nobody wins.

He studies the scene before him, idly fingering the last red chip in his hands. Then he sighs.

“So what now?” he asks hoarsely.

“I was thinking sappy sibling cuddle session followed by midnight hot chocolate.”

He gives a dry, short laugh. “That’s just about the gayest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Lalonde.” But you’re acutely aware of the fact that he doesn’t say no.

“If saying how much I missed Kanaya wasn’t a clue to my proclivities, Strider, I question your ability to think rationally at all.” You shove the Connect Four board aside.

Dave is concentrating on the patterns in the carpet, eyes just barely visible over the tip of his shades. He’s idly tracing something that you can’t quite see from this angle, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low, hardly audible.

“Do you think it’d be possible to ever see them again?”

In lieu of an answer (because “yes” rises up in your throat but it would choke you and you don’t want to say “no”) you reach towards him, pulling him into a hold that sort of awkwardly resembles a hug or something. Something’s stinging in your eye. It’s not your fault you’re crying, except that it is.

And you know that Dave Strider doesn’t do hugs - you know that he was never taught physical affection, not by Bro, not by anyone, but you don’t care, because you’re clinging to him with every ounce of force you can possibly muster from your dainty, 13-year old body.

The weirdest part is that he’s actually hugging you back.

“It’s hard, Rose,” he murmurs against your neck, and you’re pretty sure he’s crying, too. “Being a kid and growing up. It’s hard and nobody understands.”

Something inside you stirs violently and breaks the dam, and suddenly you’re sobbing, in a rather undignified manner, all over your brother’s raglan baseball tee. He just holds you tighter, fingers entwining themselves into your short hair, cradling your head against his chest.

“Don’t cry,” he chokes out, even though he’s clearly doing the same. “It’s just - it’s not cool, okay.”

“I’m not crying, Strider. I’m just - casually sobbing my eyes out all over your shirt.”

“Yeah, exactly, so cut it out. Don’t mess with the threads, come on.” He forces a quick, breathy laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

It almost works. You chuckle lightly, soundlessly. “You hypocrite.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He finally pulls away, and it’s a god damn miracle, really, because his face is completely dry, all calm and collected. “Now pull yourself together, Lalonde, I’m not good with all this touchy-feely girl shit.”

“Asshole,” you mumble. You rub your eyes, knowing that your cheeks will be red for hours and he looks as though he hadn’t cried at all. Bastard. “Top left cabinet, bottom shelf.”

“What about it?”

“That’s where the hot chocolate is, idiot.”

You expect some sort of biting retort, but instead, he lightly kisses the top of your head before standing. “All right. Stay there, I’ll bring it up for you.”

“Don’t trip on the stairs. It’s dark.”

“Consider me fully briefed on the matter of stairs.”

:::

TT: Now just print it out. I’m guessing you know how to use a printer by now.   
EB: i wasn’t born yesterday, rose, jeez! i can do this!   
TT: Sorry. You know I just like to be meticulous about these things.   
EB: ha ha, yeah, i know. this is going to be so much fun!    
TT: I expect it will. See you in a few days, John.

\--    
tentacleTherapist [TT]   
ceased pestering    
ectoBiologist [EB]   
\--


End file.
